


New Traditions

by thegreatwordologist



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Christmas celebrations, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Papyrus can cook!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 07:03:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9537071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatwordologist/pseuds/thegreatwordologist
Summary: When you get home from a work Christmas party, there's an invitation on your door...





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lethotep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lethotep/gifts).



> This is an [@undertalesecretsanta](http://undertalesecretsanta.tumblr.com/) giftfic for [@lethotep](http://lethotep.tumblr.com/). I met Lethotep through Papchat, but sadly, I didn’t have a lot of chance to really get to know them before I disappeared into the bowels of schoolwork again. However, I did get to see just how awesome they are, and I was very happy to be chosen to give them a giftfic!

The last thing you were expecting when you got home after your work Christmas party was a card taped to your front door. It took you a moment to juggle the half-eaten tray of chicken spaghetti with your gift and keys, and finally you were inside. Once you’d dumped the contents of your arms off on the kitchen table, you ducked back over to the door, pulling it free of the door and bumping the door closed with your hip as you considered the writing on the front.

“NEIGHBOR!” was spelled out in capital letters across the center of the envelope, followed by an exclamation point and a sugar-skull sticker you suspected was left over from Halloween. You dropped down on your favorite chair, an over-stuffed club chair in bright blue upholstery, and flipped the envelope over. On the back, securing the flap closed, was another sugar-skull. You snorted in amusement.

It took only a little work to get the flap open – the sticker was no match for you – and you pulled out a card with a bright, almost garish Christmas tree on the front.

“Buddy,” you muttered, a crooked grin on your face as you glanced back at the envelope, “You’re mixing your holidays.” Still, you opened the card, not quite sure what to expect. You’d never been particularly chummy with your neighbors, really. And until now, no one had ever gone out of their way to get to know you. But this…

“Caps inside, too?” you muttered, eyes wide as you stifled a laugh. It took you only a second to shift mental gears toward exuberance when confronted with the capitalization choice.

“DEAR NEIGHBOR,” the card began, alongside a smallish sketch of the layout of your floor. “IN THE SPIRIT OF THE SEASON, PLEASE CONSIDER JOINING ME FOR DINNER. I LIVE IN 3-B, AND WILL HAVE DINNER ALL READY WHEN YOU GET HOME FROM WORK. JUST KNOCK ON THE DOOR WHEN YOU’RE READY!” You glance over at the tray of chicken spaghetti, contemplating it for a moment before getting up to shove it in the fridge. 

Still, the prospect of going over empty-handed didn’t appeal, so you reached for the gift bag you’d gotten in the white elephant exchange at work. “I hope you like candles,” you note, tearing off the numbered tag and twisting the tissue more neatly around the contents before standing back a pace to nod. That would be good enough, you figured.

The spirit of the season… It’d been quite a while since you thought of it as anything other than a two-day break from work, really.

 

“Knock, knock,” you called out a few minutes later, rapping on the door to 3-B with your knuckles lightly. Through the door you heard the clamor of pots and pans, and then silence for a few heartbeats before the door swung open with a surprisingly strong jerk, and you looked up.

And up. And UP. The skeleton had to be seven feet tall, you noted in the back of your mind as your eyes met the bright white of his eye-lights, and you held up the card in an odd sort of defense. “Hey. I got an invitation to dinner?” you said, trying desperately not to be intimidated by the idea of the skeleton in front of you.

“WONDERFUL!” he said, his voice intense with an excitement normally reserved for children on Christmas morning, and that one word diffused your nerves. “I WAS HOPING YOU WOULD JOIN ME! I INVITED A FEW OTHERS, BUT THEY ALREADY HAD HOLIDAY PLANS,” he explained, stepping back to let you into his home.

The apartment was almost showroom-neat, you noted with silent envy, wondering where he found the energy for such cleaning. Yours was neat, too, you knew, but not like this – not so spotless that it looked more like a museum than a home – and even then, your neatness was mostly confined to the living room, where people saw. You turned to compliment him, and realized he’d disappeared into the kitchen. Setting the gift bag on a small table by the door, you followed him in.

“My plans are usually to sleep through the holidays,” you admit wryly, watching him work. Despite his size, he moved with calm grace through the kitchen, tending various pots and pans without any apparent difficulty. “I don’t really tend to do much beyond the work party and whatnot.” You prepared yourself for a meaningless exclamation of what you should do, but rather than doing what others always did, the skeleton merely looked over at you thoughtfully for a moment before nodding. 

“THEN PERHAPS WE WILL MAKE THIS A TRADITION,” he said, and the warmth in his eyes stunned you.

“Why?” you couldn’t quite stop yourself from asking. Realizing your faux pas almost immediately, you tried to double back, verbally flailing all over yourself as you rubbed your face. “No, sorry. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful or any…” As your hand fell away from your face, you froze. The skeleton was right in front of you, reaching for your hand with both of his. The feel of his phalanges was cool, rather like unglazed ceramic, and he patted your hand gently.

“IT WOULD BE NICE TO CELEBRATE WITH SOMEONE AGAIN,” he said simply, his voice gentle in a way that invited questions, but somehow, your throat was closed against words, so you nodded. “GOOD,” he said firmly, straightening and patting the top of your head before he nodded to the table. “DINNER’S READY. WE CAN OPEN GIFTS AFTER.” 

You turned toward the table in a daze before his words registered, and you were suddenly desperately grateful you had decided to bring the candle. An invitation to dinner was one thing, but without a gift in exchange, you would’ve felt like a complete heel. Relaxing slightly, you sat down as the skeleton placed tray after tray of food on the table. Square in the center of the table was a large bowl of tomato and meat spaghetti, surrounded by various side dishes that you’d never really thought of serving with spaghetti, and you grinned widely. Maybe next year, you’d make a Christmas turkey for him…

 

“The food was amazing,” you moan in appreciation nearly an hour later, draped over his couch and wondering whether dropping into a food coma would be bad form in front of a new friend. “How do you not have people beating down your door to share this with you?”

Papyrus shrugged, topping off your coffee deftly before moving to sit down nearby. “MOST OF THE TIME, UNDYNE AND I SHARE THE COOKING FOR THE HOLIDAYS,” he explained. “BUT CHRISTMAS IS DIFFERENT.”

“Different how?” you press, reaching out to poke him. “It’s not like you can’t celebrate with your friends on Christmas, right? You proved that tonight.”

He laughed, reaching out to ruffle your hair. “THE OTHERS LIKE TO SPEND TIME WITH THEIR FAMILIES ON CHRISTMAS. UNDYNE AND ALPHYS SPEND IT WITH ASGORE. FRISK SPENDS CHRISTMAS WITH TORIEL. SANS HAS HIS WIFE AND CHILD TO LOOK AFTER.”

“What, so they just leave you alone?” you frown, sitting up. You weren’t quite sure why the thought enraged you so much, but before you could do more than huff, he laughed again.

“NO,” he shook his head. “I ASKED THEM TO TAKE THE DAY BEFORE WITH THEIR FAMILIES, AND THEN I VISIT THEM CHRISTMAS DAY.” He turned shrewd eyes on you. “YOU COULD JOIN ME, YOU KNOW.”

You started to nod, then froze. Wait, what? “Why would I…” you started, and he moved to retrieve one of the presents under his tree.

“BECAUSE NO ONE SHOULD BE ALONE ON CHRISTMAS DAY,” he said quietly, setting the gift down on your lap before striding over to the table to collect the gift you’d left there earlier that day. 

“Yeah, but they’re your friends,” you protested awkwardly, staring down at the brightly-colored wrapping paper. “You want time with just you, right?”

“_______.” Papyrus’ voice was gentle, coaxing your eyes up in the way he might’ve coaxed a nervous cat’s. “YOU’RE MY FRIEND, TOO.”

“You barely even know me,” you scoff, then bite your lip. You hadn’t meant to say that out loud. But he doesn’t seem to take any offense. 

“BUT I WANT TO GET TO KNOW YOU.” 

For a moment… you shook your head. “Dude,” you muttered, mentally ducking behind the words to get out of the intimacy. “If you’re trying to hit on me…”

“I’M NOT,” he assured you, eyes dancing. “BUT WE’VE CHATTED A BIT ON THE ELEVATOR FROM TIME TO TIME, AND YOU ALWAYS SEEMED LIKE AN INTERESTING HUMAN TO ME. I THINK MY BROTHER AND BEST FRIEND WOULD LIKE YOU A LOT… JUST LIKE I DO.” He paused for a moment, considering his next words while you digested that. “I THINK MAYBE YOU COULD USE A FRIEND OR TWO, AS WELL.” 

You open your mouth to protest once more, and his eyes sharpen as he stares at you. Before you can even get a word out, he cuts in once more. “WOULD IT SWEETEN THE DEAL IF I PROMISED TO MAKE YOU DINNER AGAIN? MAYBE EVEN LET YOU DOZE ON MY COUCH WHILE I’M COOKING?”

Your cheeks go red, and you look away, but he’s chortling to himself. “OPEN YOUR GIFT, ______. AND COME WITH ME TOMORROW. I WANT TO INTRODUCE THEM TO MY NEW FRIEND.”

You stare down at the gift for a minute, then look straight up at him as you come to a decision. 

“On one condition, Papyrus,” you say, hands still on the paper and your heart pounding in your chest with surprising force. Papyrus tilts his head in curiosity, and you grin suddenly. “I get to invite you to dinner on New Year’s.”

“DEAL!” he cheered, then waved at your gift again. “GO ON!”

You shook your head, feeling suddenly mischievous. “Nope,” you informed him. “You first. Oooh, and then after the gifts, I know what we need to do!”

“WHAT’S THAT?” he asked, leaning forward in curiosity. You grinned widely.

“We’re gonna drive around and look at Christmas lights, and then we’re headed back to my place for a Christmas movie.” You thought about the animated Grinch movie you had found in the bargain bin last year, and nodded to yourself. Papyrus would love it.

“THEN I SHALL BRING DESSERT TO YOUR PLACE BEFORE WE LEAVE,” he said, and you blinked.

“Dude, you made dessert, too? You’re amazing,” you mutter, patting your stomach as he drew the glass-cased candle out of the bag and turned it around. 

“I DECIDED TO MAKE THE DESSERT THAT SELLS THE BEST AT THE RESTAURANT,” he confirmed as he lifted the candle to his nose socket and sniffed noisily. “AH, IT SMELLS WONDERFUL, NEW FRIEND!” He bounced a little, rather like a puppy, and waved at your box once again. With a shy grin, you nodded.

“What restaurant, anyway?” you ask as you unwrap the thin box. A moment later, all you can do is grin widely as you stare at the beautifully-intricate cover of the blank journal on your lap. “How’d you know?” you whisper, before he can answer your first question, and Papyrus laughed.

“YOU MENTIONED LIKING TO WRITE IN THE ELEVATOR LAST WEEK,” he noted. “AND THESE SEEMED REALLY POPULAR, SO I THOUGHT IT MIGHT SUIT YOU. I ASKED AROUND THE KITCHEN,” he admitted.

“You did all this without even talking to me about it,” you murmur, sitting back on the couch and staring at him in amazement. “I would’ve gotten you something a lot better if I’d realized we were exchanging gifts.”

“YOU GAVE ME THE BEST GIFT POSSIBLE, ______,” he countered, moving to set his candle aside and get to his feet. You followed suit slowly, considering his statement before shaking your head.

“What? You canNOT tell me you love candles that much,” you point out. 

He retrieves a decadent-looking chocolate cheesecake from the refrigerator, then grabs his keys before looking back at you.

“YOU GAVE ME A NEW FRIEND.” The honest warmth in his eyes stop you before you can protest the cheesy sentiment, and you swallow back the sting of unexpected tears.

“Right back at’cha, Paps,” you mutter, hiding away in the casual speech. He merely smiles.


End file.
